


Bathed in Moonlight

by WriterGirl128



Series: No Big Deal [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bromance to Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Lydia the Matchmaker, M/M, No Angst, Pack Antics, Pack Dynamics, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, not even a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t tell Stiles. They had something figured out—some platonic thing that was, okay, maybe a little more than platonic…but it was working. It was working, and it wasn’t weird, and why would he risk messing that up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathed in Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Few notes right off the bat: in this universe Derek wasn't kidnapped by Kate (because boo that) and Stalia isn't a thing (not to say I'm pro OR anti Stalia, it's just not a thing, here), there is a TON of dialogue (sorry, I don't know why that happened?!) and also this is basically ALL fluff. Yay Skittles :D

They were in econ when Scott got the text. His first reaction was: _Oh, God. Something’s wrong._ He frowned at his phone screen for a minute before shooting a questioning look to Stiles in the desk next to him.

Stiles frowned at him, curious, and Scott nodded to Stiles’ pocket, where he knew Stiles’ phone was. Stiles nodded, understanding, and looked at his phone as well. The look on his face told Scott that he’d gotten the exact same text from Lydia.

_Loft. Tonight. Eight o’clock._

The two of them exchanged glances before turning in sync to look at Lydia’s desk—where Lydia was attentively listening to Coach ramble on about stocks and somehow relating that back to lacrosse. When she saw them looking, she smiled innocently and gave them a little wave. But it wasn’t just a wave—it was a mischievous, almost flirtatious wiggle of her fingers.

 Stiles gave her a look, involving some weird eye thing and some very not-as-subtle-as-he-hoped hand gestures that Coach caught because, man, that was just Stiles’ luck.

“Stilinski!” he called, tapping his desk for his attention. “Are you swatting at a fly or is there something you’d like to share?”

Stiles winced at the mention of flies, and Scott couldn’t help but flinch a bit himself. “Fly, Coach,” Stiles said, turning back to face the front. “Just a fly. Totally normal fly,” he added dropping his voice so low only Scott could hear it. “Totally normal, not demonic, house fly.”

“Stilinski!”

“What?”

“Are you still talking?”

Stiles tapped his pen on his desk, raising his eyebrows at Coach. “Right now? I guess. Well, I’m talking to you, so yes? I’m still talking. But it’s only because you asked me a question, so it’s not really my fault when you think about it.”

Coach looked lost—Stiles looked triumphant. Coach shook his head as he turned away, back to the front of the class. “Good to have you back, Stilinski. Irritating, but good.”

Stiles shot him a thumbs-up, pleased. “Thanks, Coach.”

The rest of the class passed without event. Lydia didn’t answer any of the texts they’d sent her, nor did she stick around after the bell to explain. As soon as it rang, she was up and out of the classroom like it was her job.

Stiles, still shoving his binder into his backpack, raised his eyebrows at Scott. “Well that was weird.”

Scott felt a little nervous, though. Cryptic text messages never ended well—not in Beacon Hills. “I hope everything’s okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Stiles snorted as they headed for the door. “Please. Did you see that look she gave us? She’s totally up to something.”

“But what could she be planning at the loft?”

* * *

A party.

That’s what Lydia was planning.

She’d avoided them for the rest of the day—so had Kira and Malia. They had no choice but to oblige and go to the loft, to see what was up for themselves. And when they walked in, it was clear to them that Lydia was, in fact, planning a party. Complete with speakers and music and a TV that had definitely not been there before, and a couch and food and pretty much everything that was supposed to be at a party.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott as he pulled the door closed behind him. “No way in _hell_ Derek knows this is happening.”

“Yes he does,” a voice said, and Scott turned, and yep. Derek Hale. And…what was that thing on his face?

Stiles squinted at him. “Dude, are you…are you _smiling_ _?_ ” He shook his head. “Who are you, and what have you done with the miserable Derek Hale we know and love?”

Behind Derek was the rest of the pack, just milling around, talking, laughing. Malia was there, and Kira and Lydia, putting bowls with chips and cookies and stuff out on a table near the couch. “Why is it everyone thinks I’m the grumpiest man on the planet?” Derek huffed.

Scott and Stiles exchanged looks. “Because,” Stiles started, “you’re pretty much the grumpiest man on the planet?”

To that, Derek rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he said, pulling Stiles’ arm. “Lydia wants to talk to you.” He gave Scott a very clear look. “Just you.”

Scott frowned but Stiles shrugged, clapping him on the back. “Well,” he chuckled, “this can’t be good.” He shot Scott a look, raising his eyebrows. “Wish me luck.”

Scott watched Stiles go with almost apprehensive eyes. He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, here.

It was almost as if Derek knew what he was thinking. “It was Lydia’s idea,” he began explaining. “I mean—you probably already knew that. But it was. She thought we should have some pack bonding party, or something.” He shrugged easily. “She asked if we could do it here.”

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “And you let her?”

Derek did some eyebrow thing, and if Scott didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Derek was _amused._ “It’s not like it’s been getting much use, lately,” he pointed out. “Cora’s gone, and Isaac—” he broke off, shaking his head. Scott couldn’t help but sympathize with him—his last Beta literally taking off, halfway around the world. He couldn’t imagine how that’d felt. But Isaac had been a good friend to him too, and Derek wasn’t the only that missed having him around. “It’s just me, here,” he continued, shrugging again. “Why not have the pack over?”

Scott felt a smile tug at his lips—he had to admit, he liked it when Derek talked like that, like he was including himself in the pack. In Scott’s opinion, Derek’s as much of the pack as Scott himself was—after all, Scott would never be where he was without Derek teaching him. “So it’s just the pack coming?” Scott asked, eyes scanning the room. It seemed like a lot of work for just them.

Derek followed Scott’s gaze, looking around the loft himself. “I think Lydia just wanted something to do,” he admitted, and he looked over to where it seemed like Lydia was deep in conversation with Stiles.

Stiles had this look on his face, a look Scott didn’t see as much as he used to. Because Stiles was grinning, and it was _honest,_ and there was something like excitement in his eyes, a very happy look that made Scott’s own mouth curve into a smile. Lydia had a patient look in her eyes, which she was rolling a lot as she spoke to Stiles, like he was completely missing the point of what she was saying.

“I miss seeing him happy like that,” Scott mused out loud, though he’d meant for it to stay in his thoughts.

Derek nodded, not moving his gaze from them until after they’d turned toward the snack table. “I know you do. We all do.” Then he raised an eyebrow at Scott. “He seems to be a lot better lately, though,” he said, almost a little too casually for Scott’s liking.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, too quickly. Then he nodded, trying to make it match Derek’s casualness. “I mean—yeah. He does.”

Derek’s other eyebrow drew up as well. “He’s not just your anchor anymore, is he?” he asked abruptly. “It’s more than that.”

Leave it to Derek Hale to be the one to finally say it out loud.

Scott could feel his face turn red, and his gaze lingered on Stiles, across the room. “How’d you know he’s my anchor?”

To that, Derek chuckled. “Come on, Scott. You’re not exactly _subtle._ You’re always with each other, and you constantly reek of each other. The only thing that could have made it more noticeable would be a blinking neon sign above your head.”

Scott chewed on the inside of his lip for a second, dropping his gaze. He winced. “Am I that obvious?”

Derek clapped a hand on Scott’s shoulder supportively, letting out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

“So are you going to do something about it?” Derek asked, only it sounded more like a challenge than anything else.

But Scott floundered with the question. “Wha—what? What do you mean? Do something?” He shook his head. “Like what?”

Derek gave him an exasperated look. “I don’t know— _tell him?”_

Scott felt his eyes widen. He’d said it like it was obvious, like—duh, of course that’s what you should do. But he couldn’t! He couldn’t tell Stiles that. They had something figured out—some platonic thing that was, okay, maybe a little more than platonic…but it was _working._ It was working, and it wasn’t weird, and why would he risk messing that up?

Before Scott got the chance to reply, however, Lydia and Stiles appeared in front of them again. Lydia smiled at Scott—behind her, Stiles was grinning. And without a word, Lydia, who Scott hadn’t realized had her hands behind her back, pulled out two red Solo cups and held them out, one for Scott and one for Derek.

Hesitantly taking the cups, Scott frowned. “What is it?”

Stiles handed Lydia her own cup, keeping one for himself too. “Just try it,” she ordered, still smiling at them. Derek and Scott exchanged looks, and Lydia sighed, crossing her arms. “Stop being paranoid and _try it._ I promise it isn’t going to kill you.”

“And she’d know,” Stiles piped in. When they looked at him, he shrugged, still grinning. “Banshee,” he explained, and Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Try it.”

Exchanging another look, Scott and Derek slowly brought the cups to their lips. Seconds later, Derek looked pleasantly surprised, and Scott was coughing as the liquid burned going down his throat. Stiles clapped him on the back a few times until he stopped, and Lydia smiled triumphantly.

“Where’d you get it?” Derek asked her, after taking another sip from his cup. “Did Deaton give it to you?”

Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “Gave it to me, told me not to touch it—who knows.”

Scott’s voice was raspy from coughing when he spoke. “What is it?”

“Beer,” she said helpfully. “But with a little something to overpower supernatural werewolf healing.”

Scott’s eyebrows rose, and he looked down into his cup. “Wolfsbane?” he asked, suddenly uneasy.

Lydia caught the worry in his voice. “Non-lethal wolfsbane,” she corrected. “Don’t worry. The only thing it’ll do to you is let you get drunk. No hallucinations, no forced-shifting, no long-term-side effects. Maybe a hangover in the morning,” she said, shrugging, “but that’s normal for everyone.”

“She’s right,” Derek agreed. “Deaton used to give some to my mother all the time for family holdiays.”

Stiles nudged Scott in the arm, raising his cup. “So drink up, buddy. Gotta take advantage of it while you can.”

And, after another push from Stiles and another look from Lydia, he did.

The night, from then on, was all uphill as far as he was concerned.

He and Kira had found themselves in an almost comfortable situation. At first it had been awkward and weird, because they were almost a thing at one point. Then Allison died. Kira stepped back, and gave Scott some space—space for which Scott was eternally grateful. And while they hadn’t gotten back to that point, they’d settled back somewhere in the middle.  They were friends, and it was nice, and there was no pressure, and it was _comfortable._

And something about knowing that made Scott a little more sure of himself when it came to his feelings for Stiles. There wasn’t as much guilt laced into it.

Somehow, he’d found himself dancing.

Now, Scott knew he wasn’t the best dancer in the world—he was honestly pretty bad, and he knew that. But Stiles loved it. And maybe it was the alcohol taking effect or maybe it was just that gut-driven urge to do anything to make Stiles happy, but Scott found himself being dragged to the middle of the room, where Kira and Malia were already moving to the music, wolfsbane-enhanced drinks in their hands.

Lydia joined them, but Derek stayed back with a small kind of smile on his face as he watched them all dance together. It didn’t surprise Scott—in fact, he never really took Derek for a dancer. Go figure. But it was nice to know that Derek knew he was welcome to, if he wanted to.

It was a small party, made up of six people. But, aside from his mother, they were the most important people in Scott’s world. So it didn’t matter.

The next thing he knew, he was dancing with Stiles, Stiles’ fingers interlaced with his own. The connection was, admittedly, a little sweaty, but neither of them really cared. They were dancing near the giant windows that overlooked the street, illuminated only by the waning moon and the lights on the streets.

When a slower song came on, Malia drifted over to talk to Derek, and Lydia and Kira wandered over to get more to drink. Everyone was a little tipsy, and everyone was a little sweaty. It should’ve smelled disgusting to his sensitive nose, Scott knew, but all he could really smell was the pure happiness radiating off of Stiles.

Later, Scott would swear it was the alcohol in him that made him hold his elbow out to Stiles, the alcohol asking, “May I have this dance?”

Later, Scott would love the fact that it was all Stiles that replied, “Of course, you dork.”

He knew they were the only two still dancing. He also didn’t care. He was in Stiles’ arms, and Stiles was in his arms, like it was exactly where they were designed to be. He nestled in close, inhaling Stiles’ scent, and the warmth it brought him made his fingers and toes tingle.

Then Stiles drew back a little bit, so that they were looking at each other, and inside his head, Scott was freaking out, because this was _Stiles_ and this was his best friend in the world, and he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t just pretend like it wasn’t anything more to him because who was he kidding, he was as transparent as a plastic bag and there was no way he could keep going like this.

He was surprised when it was Stiles that made the move. He was surprised when Stiles closed the distance between them, so close they could feel each other’s breath. He was surprised when it was _Stiles_ that kissed _him_ first.

It was gentle, tentative, almost—like he wasn’t sure if what he was doing was okay or not. His lips were soft and warm and Scott froze because that wasn’t what he was expecting at all, and when Stiles pulled away again, he kicked himself for freezing because suddenly his lips felt too cold without Stiles’ against them.

Scott blinked at Stiles for a minute, who was watching with something like embarrassment slowly filling his expression. When Scott didn’t say anything, he pulled away a bit. “Well,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I obviously completely misinterpreted that moment.” He shook his head, dropping his gaze and turning away. “I’m—I’m sorry. Sorry.”

But Scott just grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, closing the distance himself, now. This kiss was deeper, and the surprise on Stiles’ face melted away in an instant before returning the kiss, lifting his hand to rest on the side of Scott’s face, pulling him in closer.

They were bathed in the moonlight from the window, and it was…kind of perfect.

“Well, _finally,_ ” said an exasperated voice from behind them, and Scott pulled away, suddenly remembering that the rest of the pack was literally right there. Lydia was the only one paying them any attention, though it was in a totally staged way that told Scott they’d all been watching the whole thing. She had a content, proud little smile on her face, and nodded over to the TV. “We’re gonna go watch a movie, whenever you two lovebirds would care to join us.”

And with that, the pack casually wandered past them, to arrange themselves in front of the television. Coincidentally, they left two seats on the couch next to each other open. Like it had all been planned all along. Scott couldn’t help but notice the smug little smiles they wore, like everything had gone according to plan.

Stiles, one arm still holding Scott’s waist, snorted once the previews started, so they wouldn’t be overheard. “They totally staged this,” he laughed. “That’s what this entire thing was for. You get that, right?”

Scott’s mouth pulled into a grin, and he turned Stiles so they were facing each other again. “Worked, though, didn’t it?”

They were both leaning into it, this time. “You’ll be the boyfriend of the crazy kid,” Stiles said quietly, and shook his head a little. They were so close his words tickled on Scott’s mouth.

Scott raised an eyebrow at him. “People have thought we were boyfriends since we were eight,” he reminded Stiles, amused.

“But this time it’ll be real,” he argued. “They’ll call you out on it just as much as they call me out.”

Scott shook his head a little, their foreheads together. “I don’t care. Stiles—I don’t care about any of that.” And he didn’t. He didn’t care what people thought. Because this thing between them? It was a good thing. A really good thing. It made him feel better and it made Stiles feel better, and so who the hell cares about what other people thought about it? Isn’t that what Stiles had told him all along?

When Scott had first figured it out, when he’d first realized that maybe his feeling were a little more than platonic, he was surprised in a totally unsurprised kind of way. He’d never thought about other guys that way—he wasn’t against the idea, it just…wasn’t him. But he wasn’t just some _guy._ It was Stiles. _Stiles._

And Scott pressed his lips against Stiles’, and it was tender, and it was sweet, and it was warm and everything it needed to be, but Stiles pulled away.

“I’m warning you,” he said seriously, “if you’re just doing this because you think it’s what I want, I’m gonna kick your little werewolf ass all the way to Candyland.”

Scott held him closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that’s become so natural to them, it was hard to believe this whole thing hadn’t happened sooner. “I want this too, Stiles,” Scott promised him, and this time, it was Stiles’ lips that met his. But only for a moment, because again, Stiles pulled away.

“So what does this mean?” he asked. “Boyfriends.”

Scott shrugged a little. “What do you want it to mean?”

Stiles thought about that for a minute, before sighing. “I just—I don’t want things to change. Because of…this. Whatever this is.”

“Nothing has to change, Stiles,” Scott assured him, still amused. “We were practically dating anyways. Just without the label.”

“Or the kissing,” Stiles added, smiling again. “Which is good, so you know. It’s really good.” And he pulled Scott in again, as if to prove a point, and Scott laughed against his lips.

But after another moment, Stiles pulled away. Again.

“You’re okay with this?” he asked again, like part of him still couldn’t believe it. “You’re…you’re really okay with this?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yes, dumbass. Now would you shut up and let me kiss you already?”

And, with a grin, he did.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the last part to this series, mostly because I'm running out of ideas and school's a thing that I actually have to worry about now. I hope you like it! And I hope I did the series justice! I'm always horrible at writing endings, so I just kind of winged it. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


End file.
